


The Beginning

by ApocalypseTeen



Series: The Beginning Series (a The Enemy fan fiction) [1]
Category: The Enemy Series - Charlie Higson
Genre: Check is non-binary, Frypan Gordon Knife Ironside and Netherite are male, Illage is the youngest and male, It can get quite gory, Multi, Multiple Deaths, Rogue and Artemis are female, Set in London, This series is set ten years ago but my fan fic is set in 2020, Trade is gender fluid, apocalyptic future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseTeen/pseuds/ApocalypseTeen
Summary: Set in the world of The Enemy, where adults, everyone aged fifteen and older, have turned into zombie-like creatures. The kids hid in groups, scattered across London. This group, led by non-binary Check, live in the Shard, three weeks in. They have farms, electricity and still have running water.
Series: The Beginning Series (a The Enemy fan fiction) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017097
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, this is my first fan fic. I don’t have much confidence with and it’ll be cool if you want some more! Tell me what you think! Enjoy!

Check stood on top of the 32nd floor of the Shard, looking out across the London they had found themself stuck in. They had their arms crossed and were watching the waves of the Thames lap against the land, like a dog, running up and down, or like the Sickos, desperate to get a taste of the kids. They shivered and adjusted their belt, in which a sword was hanging. 

They turned around as the heard the lift reach the floor and open. Inside were their sister and his best friend, who were both Brutes, the fighting elite, Artemis and Ironside. 

“Check!” Artemis said, walking up to them and punching their arm hard, “we talked to our allies at the Imperial War Museum, y’know, Jordan and DogNut and that lot and they’re willing to trade food for weapons and such.”

“We give them food, they give us weapons,” Ironside said, finishing what my sister had said. 

“Good,” Check said, putting their arms down and resting their right hand on their sword hilt, and turning to Ironside, “We’re getting a group out in the morning so we can get some more weapons: we need guns and they need food supply.”

“How much food should we give them?” Ironside asked.

“An eighth,” Check said plainly, “an eighth of everything, vegetables, fruit, meat and snacks like crisps and biscuits.”

“Got it,” Ironside said, walking to the lift and pressing the button, which took him down. 

Artemis walked up to next to Check and leaned on their shoulder, “how many other kids do you reckon are still alive?” 

“Enough,” Check replied, “enough to survive.”


	2. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction to the characters: Check, Netherite, Gordon, Illage, Rogue and Artemis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so, this is the first proper chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Check woke up the next morning in a hotel room on the 51st floor, dressed in their camouflage pyjamas, lying, staring at the ceiling. Check forced themselves up from the very comfortable bed and into the bathroom, looking at the mirror and their reflection. 

The most noticeable feature of Check, was their hair. Their hair was long but not very long, reaching down to past their ears but not to their shoulders. It was dark black and looked great. Check, because they were attacked one week into the disease by a Sicko, had their eye torn out. Their group had run to the hospital and found a bionic eye and how his face had a long scar running down his face. The doctor that had helped them, helped them set up and everything before she turned Sicko and took a couple kids with her. The other eye was a blotchy hazelnut, which had melded into the sclera from the iris. Their nose was squashed and flat, as it had been broken several times. They were not too tall but they also weren’t the smallest in the group, but they always had a smile on their face and looked at the positives. They rubbed their eyes, trying to get some tiredness out and tilted their head, admiring their dark skin, with a pink scar running down and black hair, covering their eyes.

They took of their top and trousers and got into the shower. The group had stolen a bunch of solar panels from houses and shops and a load of places like that and linked them up, with the help of a girl called Wires, who knew a lot. They now had heated water, electricity for a group of dvds so they stayed entertained and electricity to keep the base warm. 

Check and the group when they first arrived, had stolen hundreds of bottles of soap and shampoo and shower gel so at least they smelled nice. Check pulled out a bottle of coal tar shampoo, which helped with their itchy scalp, which Check had and always had for his entire life. They rubbed the shampoo in and leaned against the wall of the shower, waiting for the shampoo to soak in. 

They remembered when they arrived three weeks ago, when they found out that their parents, older siblings, friends, cousins, uncles and aunts had all succumbed to an unknown disease. The disease changed them; they weren’t human any more. The lucky ones died, the unlucky ones lived on as something, well, dangerous, a creature, an animal, no longer living with thoughts of intelligence and civilisation. All they knew was to hunt and to eat. 

Check sighed at washed the shampoo out of their hair, leaning their head into the water, spraying down on them. After a little while, Check managed to wash out the shampoo and, sadly, switching off the shower and walking out, wrapping themselves in a towel and sitting on one of the beds.

They dried themself off, and got dressed into black jeans, which fitted them perfectly, a t-shirt, which was a long-sleeved Set It Off, red Duality album shirt and a bandana wrapped around their neck. They put on trainers, blue Gazelle Adidas shoes and, finally, a green checked shirt, which is where they got their nickname from. 

They walked out into a hallway and to the lift at the end of the hall, where they pressed the button and were taken down to the first floor of The Shard. 

The doors of the lift opened as he saw a pathway outside which they had made quickly. They followed the path and walked outside to see a lot happening. They noticed the farmers, led by Trade, who were sorting out the crops and sorting out the seeds. Illage, one of the younger farmers was pulling out a bunch of carrots from a pot where he had planted them before the disease and taken them to here when the disease broke out. 

Illage stood up and cheered, which was followed but applause from the rest of the farmers and a hard slap on the back from Trade. Trade was a big guy. He was only fourteen but he looked to be about seventeen, with big, burly muscles and large hands. Illage fell over but got up immediately and started to laugh. Check smiled and walked over to him, as he put them in a bucket. 

“The first of our crops,” he said proudly, hopping up and down slightly, a huge grin on his face, “and that’s only the first box, there’s seven left!” 

Check smiled wider, “good work Illage. Thank God you managed to get them from your house.”

“I know!” Illage said, opening his arms, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Fine,” Check said, as Illage ran at him and hugged Check’s lower stomach, Illage’s face on their chest. Bless him, Check thought, he was only eight, didn’t really understand what was going on. Illage stopped clinging to them and ran of, tugging at Trade’s leg and chattering excitedly.

“You need to tell him,” said a voice next to them. Check turned and saw the white face of Netherite, another Brute, who was looking at them accusingly. 

“No,” Check said turning back and walking to the wall that had been put up on the first day. Netherite followed.

“Dude, he needs to find out,” he said.

“No!” Check said defiantly, “when he’s older.” Check walked away and climbed a view point. 

“Check!” Netherite said angrily, “he is going to hate you if you don’t tell him.” 

“I don’t care,” Check said, “I want to keep him as young as possible.”

“I’m just saying,” Netherite said.

Check ignored him and looked out down the road, which he saw was a group of kids walking towards them. “The Hunter-Brutes are back.” 

Netherite’s face lit up and he started to open the door. Check climbed down, watching as Artemis, their sister, walked over to them. 

The group eventually came to the Shard and walked through, one was limping slightly.

“What happened?” Check asked. 

“Another attack,” a girl with an American accent said. The girl, who had been nicknamed Rogue, was short and young. She was only eleven years old but she carried a wicked looking knife which hung by her belt, dried blood spattering it, “we lost Pack and Laff. Incendio got cut up in the battle.” Rogue had come from New York, after living there her whole life and had come to London for a holiday when she got stranded her because of the disease. She was determined to get back.

“Get Incendio to the nursing suite. Rogue, need a longer report. Meet me on the first floor,” Check said. 

“Yes, commander,” she said, taking Incendio over her shoulder and walking him to the entrance to The Shard. 

Check sighed and Artemis put her hand on their shoulder. “Pack and Laff were some of our best fighters,” they said sadly. 

“We lose people,” Artemis said, “let’s go and talk to Rogue about what happened.”

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Gordon, who was the head chef in the kitchen, was sorting out food. He was a perfectionist and liked everything to be perfect, even by the way he sorted food. 

He lived in Scotland before the outbreak but got stuck in London as he was visiting his cousins who lived in Holloway and met his younger cousin’s best friend, a guy called Arran Harper, who he got spilt from once Holloway was overrun by Sickos and he saw Arran and his cousin run to Waitrose. His cousin was called Eve. They were probably dead. 

Since the disease, which was about three weeks ago, Gordon had been placed in charge of the cooks and had been teaching the others who were chosen. He had taken food tech for half of his year doing GSCE’S and knew basic things; how to use every part of a chicken for food, some basic meals, such as beans on toast or a stir fry but some complex ones like a couple cakes and roasts and such. 

He took out a frozen packet of hash browns and put them on a grill pan and slipped it into the pre-heated oven. He heard footsteps.

“Damn Imperial Group,” said a male voice. 

“Frypan,” Gordon said, closing the oven door.

“We can’t give up any food. That group is going to start to rely on us for food. And we need groups to stay together, not merge.”

“Whatever,” Gordon said. 

“Dude I can’t be the only one who thinks this: strength in numbers, until there are too many mouths to feed.”

“Consult your brother,” Gordon replied, trying to avoid him. 

“I did and he agrees with me,” Frypan shot back. 

“Look, I don’t want to get involved,” Gordon said, “I’m just a cook. As long as there is enough food, I’m happy.”

“And there’s not enough.” 

“Listen to me,” Gordon said, starting to get angry, “we only gave up an eighth of what we have, which is more than enough to feed our guys. We have crops starting to grow and the Butchers can kill animals we get, we need to start breeding them. We are fine.” 

“What happens if the crops gets stolen, or the animals die from another disease?” 

“We will deal with it.”

Frypan rolled his eyes and stood there for a few minutes. Gordon watched Frypan out of the corner of his eye as he took out some bacon and fried it. He noticed the short blond hair Frypan had, with sharp green eyes peeking through and dazzling olive skin surrounding them.

He had liked Frypan for a little while, since he had met him a couple of weeks ago, when he and his brother arrived, until he started talking about how this group needs to think about itself, we shouldn’t help others, everyone for themselves. Gordon felt awkward around Frypan when he would talk about that. Frypan leaned on the side of the wall, watching Gordon before he left. 

Gordon was left along in the kitchen, finally. He preferred to be alone. He checked on the hash browns and took them out and, after a few minutes, he was done with the bacon. He smiled slowly. He left the kitchens and took the lift down to the first floor where Check was talking to Rogue. 

“Gordon!” Check said, “good to see you, man! And you brought food!”

“Yep,” Gordon said, “I see the Hunters are back.”

“Yeah,” Rogue replied, coughing to get Check’s attention, “my report.” 

“Yes,” they said, clapping their hands together, guiding Rogue to a desk and sitting down on it. They pulled out a map from a drawer which was a map of London, with places scratched out and renamed. The area of what used to be Wimbledon was called the Danger-Zone, as the tennis courts had become nests for infected adults. The Thames was renamed the Neutral Zone, as there was a group in Big Ben, The Imperial War Museum, The Tower of London and the Shard. Holloway was now called Allies and South London became the Dead Zone. 

Rogue leaned on the table and took out her pen, drawing on the map, marking the Tower and Tower Bridge. 

“We moved across the bridge to go and see the Tower guys. They’re incompetent. No jobs, low food, low water, limited medication. All they do is sit around all day and sleep.” 

Check sighed, “kids will be kids I guess.”

“Yes, but we can’t have that commander; they are all going to die!” 

“Okay,” Check said, “send them some of our seeds and food.” 

“Got it,” Rogue said, writing a note on the map and continuing, “so we came back from the Tower and went across the bridge, but there was a group of adults. Laff got pushed off and he was chased by a load of them. Pack got surrounded and killed, they sacrificed themselves for us and the rest of us escaped apart from Incendio, who got attacked by a lone adult, nearly chewed his damn foot off. So I killed the sicko.”

Check leaned back and crossed his arms, “Pack was our best fighter.”

“They were fifteen,” Rogue said, “they lied to use about our age. They knew they were going to become sick so they saved us. The last stand. They told us before they let the adults kill them.”

Gordon felt a rush creeping up his neck as he realised he wasn’t the only person to lie about his age. He was also fifteen, born in January. He swallowed hard but his throat felt like he was trying to swallow a golf ball. He rubbed his eyes and clenched his fists, trying to distract himself. 

“Are you alright, Gordon?” Check asked.

“Yeah. I’m just feeling a bit ill.” 

“Go to your room. Get some sleep. You’ve been slaving away in that kitchen all morning and night. You always do.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s a good plan. Cheers, Check.”

Check smiled and watched Gordon walk to the lift. 

“Send a group out to the Tower, give them food and other stuff, and a second to the Imperial War Museum to get weapons. Tomorrow though.” 

Rogue nodded and walked away and out to the garden. 

Check slowly pushed themselves up and walked over to the lift and travelled up to the 32nd floor, where they pulled up a chair and watched London, keeping their sword near them, just looking. Looking.


	3. The Butchers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter introduces two characters: Knife and Kadie, who are both Butchers in the Shard group, meaning they deal with animals: killing them etc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my shortest chapter (Not including the prologue) so I'm probably gonna post again on Tuesday.

Knife was wondering around the garden, feeling jittery. There were two groups going out today and he was part of the group going to the Museum. He had known the leader of the Imperial War Museum group, Jordan, before this, not really a friend, but an acquaintance. He doubted Jordan would remember. 

He drew a long knife from his holster and slashed at a wall. It was a dangerous looking thing, jet black and grey, eight inches long, with extra jagged spikes stemming out from the main blade. He had found it hidden in his brother's bedroom when London fell and had to kill him with it. His first sicko kill. 

Knife had always liked animals and was one of the group's Butchers. There were four of them: him, Gut, Pump and Kadie. Kadie didn’t change her name when she arrived and threatened Check when he put forward the idea. Knife was intimidated by her from the moment he met her. She was your average bully bitch: tall, strong, loud-mouthed and rude; didn’t like to hear other people's ideas, bullied people into doing what she wanted, kill the chicken this way, kill the cow this way. Knife hated her. 

He did like Gut and Pump though. They were brothers who had nicknamed themselves Gut and Pump before the disease even broke out. They were brutal as well. Known for hunting animals down to the last rat in the group, still, Knife enjoyed to mess around with them and fake duel with their knives. 

When they found the Imperial War Museum, they had originally stolen swords and only swords because the other areas were Sicko Nests, then they left to claim The Shard, the Museum was taken. Fortunately, they all had their weapons. 

Knife, like the rest of the Butchers, was armed with a knife. Gut’s knife was short and sharp and he had a lot of them, that he threw at his targets. Pump’s knife was a normal kitchen knife, but double-bladed. And finally, Kadie’s knife wasn’t even a knife. It was a machete, long, bent, wicked sharp and she had two of them. This, combined with the tough mean girl look, she was not someone you wanted to mess with, but she was great to be on your side.

Knife stabbed his blade onto the wall of the base and carved a sharp K.

“What are you doing?” Knife heard Kadie say from behind him. Knife ignored her and focused on extending the bottom leg of the K and curled it around so it became a loop. 

“I asked, what are you doing, Pixie?” she growled.

“Ignoring you,” Knife whispered. He was thirteen and usually stood his ground but he cowered in the shadow of this girl. Still, he kept his cool and remained tough in the light of the situation.

“Hey!” Kadie hissed, “don’t speak back to me, or you might not have a tongue to say it.”

“You gonna start killing kids now?” Knife said, turning around, his voice wavering slightly as he saw her.

“No,” Kadie replied truthfully, “just torture you until you beg for death. Then I leave you out and watch as you try and fend off the Sickos.” Knife glared at her.

“Hey!” Check said, walking over to them, “I don’t want people talking like that around here, okay? We are all stuck in this shit together and I don’t want kids getting killed by other kid.” 

“Whatever, Check. I ain’t taking orders from you.” Check breathed in deeply and looked at her.

“Kadie, I want you here, you’re a great fighter. I need people like you on my team.” 

She looked down at them, “I ain’t taking orders from an enby.” She swung at their head. 


	4. Check’s Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Kadie has taken a swing at Check. This is the fight, then there is the trade between a part of the Shard group with the Imperial War Museum group

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my friends who was reading this wanted to fight Kadie and I wanted that to happen so I consider this a win! Anyways, sorry I’m a day late on this but the next chapter will be up on Saturday!

Check heard the words and, like a gunshot to the heart, they felt a fist connect with their face, launching them across the garden and smashing their back against the glass wall of The Shard. Somehow, it didn’t break. 

They saw their sister running up to Kadie. 

“No!” they shouted, their voice gravelly, “this is my fight.”

Check forced themselves up but had to duck down quickly as the fist of Kadie was launched at them. They heard a smash as Kadie went through the glass wall before quickly emerging, blood seeping from hundreds of cuts, a look of manic in her eyes. 

Check jumped up, watching Kadie march towards them. She swung again, and they ducked, letting her collide with nothing but air. They slid through her open legs, stood up and punched her in the back of the head, so she fell over and nearly hit her head on the edge of a plant bed. 

Quick as lightning, it was crazy how fast it was, Kadie was back up on her feet, chasing Check who had started to walk away. Check slowly turned, poising, ready to fight as Kadie slammed her leg into their stomach. There was a loud groan from Check, as they collapsed, struggling to breath. 

Kadie sat on their chest, repeatedly punching their face until their nose was broken and blood was seeping from their good eye. Between the shouts of pain from Check, they barely managed to put their hand out to grab a shard of glass from the smashed window and driving the shard right into Kadie's thigh. 

She howled in pain as Check pushed her around off them, stabbing a second shard into the other thigh. She howled even more. But Check was still not done. He kicked her in the side, multiple times, until she curled up and stopped moving.

"Don't you ever insult me again," Check spat. 

From the low sounds coming from Kadie, Check managed to make out a 'whatever' coming from her. Check walked over to the rest of the group. "Get her to the med room," they said to two of the nurses. They nodded obedietely and walked over and took her to floor 5, where the med room was. 

Knife admired Check. He, like many of the people in the group, were scared to even talk to Kadie, so fighting her, well, that caused for applause. Knife clapped his hands, a smile on his face. Check smiled to reply.

“You guys need to head out,” they said. 

“We will,” Knife said, adjusting their backpack, “let’s move guys.”

They started to walk away but Check grabbed Artemis’ hand. She went to them, “keep the group safe.”

“Of course I will,” Artemis promised, “I’ve got your back.”

Knife walked down the devastated streets of London, followed closely by Artemis and the twins, Pump and Gut, pushing at each other jokingly. Rogue was at the front of the group, large knife in hand, ready to kill any Sicko that jumped out at them. They were all wearing backpacks, filled with food, ready to trade with the group. Knife had the meat, which was heavy on his back, making his shoulders ache and making him sweat slightly. 

There was a crash and Knife saw Gut go flying into a bin, falling on the floor and ending up in a huge pile of waste. He laughed loudly, followed by his brother. 

“Can you fucking cut it out?” Artemis said angrily. 

“Ooh sorry,” Gut said in a sarcastic, high-pitched voice. Knife looked down frowning, watching Artemis’ face out of the corner of his eye. 

“Do you want to attract the damn Sickos?” Artemis growled. 

“Look, we’re just messing around. Loosen up a bit, fam.” 

“Well, do you think Laff was just ‘messing around?’ No, he died, because he let his guard down. I watched it. So concentrate.” 

“Speak of the devil,” Rogue said, “Sickos, straight ahead.” 

Knife took his blade from his belt and readied himself, watching the group of them. There were about ten of them, two mothers, a father and the rest were teenagers. Knife noticed the one leading them, was a young man, with bright yellow eyes and dark hair. He was stumbling towards them, the rest of the Sickos behind him, standing like a triangle, so there were two behind the lead one, one of each side of the second, which continued down to the last two. 

The lead Sicko turned his head and jumped at Rogue who let out a scream. The rest of the Sickos ran to the other three, Knife ducked away from the one to the right of the lead Sicko, who had attacked him. The Sicko, who’s face was covered with pus-filled boils, got up from the floor, growling and quickly grappled at Knife. 

“Pus-Brain,” Knife said, scrambling back as the thing jumped at him. He kicked him in his face, bursting some boils, which exploded over Knife’s boot. Pus-Brain got pushed back and fell into a pile of rubbish. Knife turned to see the face of a mother baring, her teeth tight together, down on him, which he stabbed, square between the eyes, killing her. 

He watched as the Lead fought Rogue, punches landing between each other. Knife ran to help the her but his leg was grabbed by Pus-Brain behind him. There was skin covered around his face, viciously attacking Knife. He swore loudly and went to stab the adult in his skull, sweeping his arm, but it was grabbed but the Pus-Brain. He swore even harder as his arm was pushed down to the ground and the adult went to bite his face. Knife pushed at Pus-Brain’s neck, trying to keep him off, and, finally, a long kitchen knife was stabbed in the adult’s chest, killing it. 

“Thank you,” he said to Pump, who was covered in blood and holding his knife. 

Almost immediately, he turned around and started to fight two more adults, which were starting to attack him. 

Knife jumped up and looked at Rogue was fighting with the Lead, pulling him up and kicking him in the face. Knife ran at him, pulling his hair back. He looked at Rogue and they both stabbed his face, right into his muscles, and pulled right back down at the mouth, so his jaw fell onto his chest. 

Knife laughed, moving back, “He looks like a pez dispenser.” Rogue chuckled and looked back. 

“Crap, we need to move.” Knife looked and saw a large group of adults coming at him. He started to run, followed by Rogue, then Pump, Gut and lastly, Artemis.

When they reached Long Road, they stopped running and slowed down, hoping they had gotten far away enough from the adults and wouldn’t get attacked. 

“That was close,” Artemis said, “and it’s your fault!” She pointed accusingly at Pump. 

“Hey!” Pump said, walking over to her, which Rogue found amusing. Although she wasn’t one for comedy, in fact, hated to watch any shows with her father and older brother, but she found the rather small Pump standing next to Artemis, trying to make himself as large as possible. 

“If you didn’t see, I saved Knife from getting his face eaten off!”

“Well, if you don’t know, you dumbass, if you hadn’t have pushed your brother into the bins, maybe the Sickos wouldn’t have come, so we wouldn’t have been attacked!” 

“I was fine,” Knife chimed in, “I was holding them off.”

“No, Knife! My sibling expects me to keep this group alive and I don’t want anyone dead!”

“Look at him! He’s alive isn’t he?” 

“Well he could have died!” 

“Well he hasn’t!”

Artemis threw her machete down to the ground, rolled up her sleeves and took off her jumper, “fight me.” 

Pump laughed, “easy.” Artemis ran at him, grabbing his wrist, bending it behind his back and pushing him to the ground. 

“Ow, ow, ow, ow. I’m sorry. Stop. Please.” Artemis let him out. 

“Don’t be so reckless next time.”

Knife smiled and kept walking, Rogue next to him, leading the group. 

Soon, they came across the road leading to the entrance of the museum, where two boys were waiting. One, with glasses held together with plasters and the other boy, jumping from one foot to the other, the skinny one.

The boy with the glasses noticed them, “Artemis! And Alex? Is that you, me old mate?” 

Knife grinned, “I didn’t think you’ll remember me. And I go by Knife now.”

Jordan, the boy with the glasses, smiled, “right. Down to business. My food?” 

“Yes!” cried Artemis, dropping her backpack on the ground, “that’s got crisps and biscuits. Knife’s got meat. Rogue’s got vegetables and fruits. The twins have whatever’s left that you wanted.” 

The other boy, the skinny one, walked over to them, “is that an eighth of your supply? Hello, I’m DogNut, it’s my gamertag.” He noticed Rogue, “hey, girl. ” 

“Eyes up, boy,” she said. 

“Feisty, ain’t ya?” 

“Shut up.” 

Before DogNut could reply, Jordan put his hand out, “chill, Doggo.” DogNut raised his hands in surrender and walked back slowly. 

“Like my general said, is that really an eighth of your supplies?” He watched the backpacks and looked at them, concerned. 

“Yes,” Artemis said, “like the thickos me and my group were, we ate most of our food, and then we realised we would have to ration. So yes, this is an eighth.” 

“That will barely last you a week,” Jordan said. 

“We’ve got crops. And we’re gonna send scouting parties out to get more food.” 

“Sounds like a good plan,” Jordan said, “and, you kept your side, we keep ours.” He clapped his hands and two boys came out from the entrance, with more backpacks, which were filled with a large number of guns. 

Knife, Gut and Artemis walked forward and grabbed the four backpacks, giving Pump one. Rogue would be our main defence. 

Knife slipped the backpack onto his back, “dammit, this is heavy.” 

“Who’d have thought, Knife? It’s a backpack full of guns.”

“I know that.”

Jordan laughed without humour. “Right, I’m off to play a game of soldiers. DogNut, get the rulers and paper, I’ll set up. If you want to trade again, we’re always free.”

“We’ll keep you in mind,” Rogue said reassuringly, turning and walking away. 

When they were out of the garden and down the road back to The Shard, Knife noticed a bus, shooting down another place, near the museum, before stopping and gunshots coming from it. 

“We can’t fight among ourselves anymore,” Knife said, signing. 

“I could not agree more,” Pump said, walking over to Artemis and putting out his fist. She looked at him, annoyed, before taking it, punching her fist with hers. They were a team and they had to stick together.


	5. Gordon and Frypan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s not much fighting in this one. Some stuff happens between Gordon and Frypan (hence the name). Then an amputation at the end to introduce the nurses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of this one, there is an amputation. I’m not that good with medical stuff so it might now be very accurate but I hope it’ll be alright. I’m now gonna upload every Monday because back to school, yay. It’ll be something to look forward to, I hope

Check looked out as their sister’s group walked out of the base, the doors opened by Trade and Netherite and closed by them. Gordon watched, standing tall and proud, amazed at Check’s courage, watching them watch the door being shut. The non-binary, was tough and a great leader, Gordon thought, he stood up to the bitch that everyone hated and who controlled people. Gordon could never do that. 

He looked at the person who had walked next to him: it was Frypan. 

“Do you think they’ll survive?” Frypan asked, his arms crossed, staring at the wall. 

“They’ve got Artemis and Rogue, two of our best fighters, so probably,” Gordon replied, truthfully. 

They both turned around when the heard the screeching of the younger ones. It looked as if they were playing tag, Illage, as usual, was it. 

“I’m gonna get you!” 

“No you’re not!” 

“Take Episk instead!” 

“No don’t! Take Red!” 

Gordon sighed, “Kids.” 

“Agreed,” Frypan said, “I’ve never really liked kids. Though I suppose, we all are.”

“Nah,” Gordon said, “we’re teens.” 

“I guess.”

Gordon looked at Frypan and smiled. His eyes were perfect. They were sea-green and reflected nature. Gordon saw images of gorgeous trees, fields of lush grass, a beautiful flat sea all coloured within Frypan’s eyes. 

“Why don’t you like kids?” Gordon asked.

Frypan looked nervous, “they just piss me off, y’know dude. Asking a million obnoxious questions. Why, why, why all the time. Me saying they can do something and then them crying, having a go at me.” 

Gordon raised his eyebrows and looked at Frypan, “it ain’t gonna help if you stay quite.” 

Frypan exhaled deeply, “fine. So. When I was born, I was the oldest kid. Then my parents had another kid.” He gestured to Netherite. “Then there were a couple more kids, Sarah and David, they died.”

He paused.

Gordon listened intently.

“Then my mum and my dad split up, divorced. It was messy. A lot of arguing. Late nights. The others had to sleep in the room with me and Netherite. We stayed together. Never saw my dad again. Then my mum started to sleep around, pregnant every year, every damn year. There were about ten kids by the time I was thirteen. She died when she was giving birth to another kid. They used to make jokes about her. It was horrible. Saying she should have died earlier. Saying she was stupid. Saying she was selfish. We got moved to an orphanage. One day, me, Netherite, Sarah and David tried to escape but we got caught. The kids guilt-tripped us. Said that we made them sad and scared and feel abandoned. So we stayed. Then the disease. We fought of the adults, protecting the kids. Sarah and David died. The kids started wanting to fight but I told them not to. They did anyway. They all died and they all blamed me.”

Gordon couldn’t think of anything else to say, “Jesus.”

“Yep,” Frypan said, popping the ‘p’. He sat down on the edge of a farm wall and started rubbing his hands together awkwardly. 

Gordon sat next to him, “I’m here for you. Whatever happens, I’m here for you and if you want to talk, or sleep in my room or just mess around, I’m here.”

“Thanks man,” Frypan said, “oh what the hell.” He leant his head on Gordon’s shoulder. 

Gordon felt quite taken about when he felt his crush’s head on his shoulder. He smiled and leant his head on Frypan’s, who didn’t seem to mind. That made Gordon even happier. He closed his eyes and was taken into a dreamland. 

Gordon imagined that he and Frypan were in London, still the disastrous, destroyed London that had been life for the past few weeks, except the Sickos were gone, they were still living in The Shard, but it was safer, enough food, enough water, warmth, safety. 

Gordon and Frypan was sitting on a bed, looking outside of the building watched the Thames, with hundreds of farms covering it and people outside laughing and living. Gordon’s hand was entwined together in Frypan’s and they turned their heads to look at each other. Gordon admired his boyfriend’s beautiful green eyes, which warmed Gordon’s chest and heart, making him feel safe in the arms of his boyfriend. They hugged. 

He felt his face on Frypan’s chest, breathing slowly. Frypan took a part of his hair and wrapped it around his fingers, stroking Gordon’s head. 

Gordon opened his eyes and pulled away from Frypan, getting his head of his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Frypan said. 

“It’s okay,” Gordon replied. He got up and walked away went back to the kitchen, as it was where he felt most relaxed. He hit his head against as oven door and tripped back, feeling a sore pain in the centre of his forehead. 

“God, I’m such a hopeless romantic,” he complained.

He felt eyes watching him and turned around to see another cook, named String, his arms crossed, leaning on the open door, a smirk spreading across his face. Gordon groaned and felt his face go hot and red. 

“String,” Gordon choked out, trying to not look at him. The boy was only twelve, but he had a look that could kill. 

“Goorrr-don,” he said, eyebrows raised knowingly and his eyes glinting maliciously. 

“Shut up,” Gordon said.

“Who do you like?” he grinned insinuatingly.

“Shut up,” Gordon replied, feeling his face going an even deeper red, if that were possible. 

“Fry-“ 

“Shut up.”

“Pannnn!”

“Shut up!” Gordon shouted, standing up tall and looking down at String. String chuckled. 

“Don’t worry, dude, I won’t say.” 

“You better not,” he threatened, “or I’ll eat your face off.”

“Chill, you’re not a Sicko.” 

Gordon chuckled thoughtfully and smiled.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” 

String frowned at him. “I’m gonna go,” he said. 

“Fine.” 

String left the kitchen and sprinted to the lift, his little legs going as fast as they could. When he crashed into the lift doors, he hurriedly smashed the button to open the doors, which they did eventually. He rushed in, repeatedly hitting the first floor button and being taken down. He rushed out and into the courtyard. 

Then, he decided against tell Check. It was probably just a joke, and, anyway, String knew Gordon and knew his comedy and him. Check didn’t say much, but tried to say that Gordon was messing around and trying to scare him. String sat down next to his buddy, named Elf and started to talk to him. They were both cooks and were best mates, staying together since the first attack. 

Elf was small and, well, elfish. He was short and wore usually quite colourful clothes. He had pointy ears, thin lips and thin brown eyes. 

Frypan held his head in his knees and groaned. He was also a hopeless romantic. He watched Gordon take a lift and, once he had left, got up and went to a second lift. He took it up and the doors opened onto a corridor, where he went to his room, which had a huge brass sign on it labelled, Room 4032. Underneath, on the wooden door, was a carved name, Frypan. His room, signed and claimed. It was his.

He opened the door slowly and saw his bedroom, an unmade bed in the centre, strewn with clothes and books and dvds. There was a large tv at the end of the bed, attached to the wall, cupboards surrounding it which were filled with pictures or Frypan’s family, friends, clothing, books, all the things Frypan liked. At the end of the room, was a small kitchen, complete with kettle, bowls, plates, spoons, knives and forks. 

He turned on the kettle and filled it with water from the tap. He turned on the switch, which was gladly still working and let the kettle boil the water. He took a mug from a cupboard, which bore the Slytherin crest and a teabag. He put in in the mug and sat down on the bed, waiting fo the kettle to be done. 

He took a book from the end of the bed which was named, The Massacre of Mankind, the sequel to The War of the Worlds. He opened the first page but stopped. He got up, walked over to the bathroom and leant his hand on the table next to the sink, watching himself in the mirror. 

He looked around at the assortment of bottles, shampoo, soap, body wash, toothpaste. He used some mouthwash and gurgled it for a minute before spitting it back in the sink and washing it out. He heard the kettle whistle and headed over to it, taking it off the boil and pouring it into the mug, stirring the teabag and leaving it for a minute. He went and got a small bottle of milk from the fridge, one of the only ones they had left, and put a little amount into the mug. 

He took a drink and slipped it onto his side table next to his bed. He sat on the bed and looked outside to the city. He saw Holloway, where he knew there were four other crews: one in Waitrose, one in Morrisons, one in Tesco and one in Sainsburys. He saw the Tower of London, where the other group were walking to deliver them seeds and more food. 

He took another drink and went to take a shower, trying to calm his nerves. Once he was done, he got dressed back into his clothes: camouflage trousers, black boots, a t-shirt and a jumper. He finished the tea and headed back down, feeling refreshed. 

“Hey, Check?” Frypan asked. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Check said. 

“I’m gonna go on a watchtower and I’m wondering if there are any guns.” 

Check breathed out between their teeth, “no guns. Artemis and Rogue and the others haven’t got back yet. You can go on watch though.” 

“Thanks,” Frypan said. He took his knife from his pocket and climbed out onto the watchtower. He sat down in the seat which had been placed at the top and sat there, watching. 

Gordon left the kitchen and headed down to the courtyard. There were kids running around, the older ones chatting and walking around. The farmers were tending the crops. The brutes were standing guard at the doors. The nurses were upstairs, sorting out Incendio and Kadie. 

He saw Frypan sitting in a watchtower and decided to go an sit up there with him. He climbed up and took out his knife, sitting down on the other seat. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” Frypan said, feeling kind of awkward. 

Very soon, they were talking, talking about their past, their family, old friends. Favourite foods, even.

“Chicken kebab,” Frypan said. 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.” 

“Yes.”

“I hate chicken kebab!” Gordon exclaimed. 

“Dude, it’s the best!” 

“No! It tasted of shit! And the herbs they used were crap! And I got food poisoning!”

“Probably just got a bad one from a bad shop,” Frypan said, smirking like he had got Gordon. 

“Which one?” 

“Capital Kebab House.” 

“I went there.”

“Oh.”

Gordon laughed, “now let’s talk Chinese. That’s good.” 

“Oh God! Yeah!” Frypan said, a look of pleasure coming across his face, “man, that’s the best.”

“Seaweed,” Gordon groaned.

“Ew, no,” Frypan said, with a look of annoyance from Gordon. 

“What?”

“Duck pancakes, that’s the best.”

“I’m really hungry now,” Gordon complained. Frypan chuckled.

Meanwhile, on Floor 5, Band was treating Incendio, who’s foot was starting to get infected. There was a fever spreading and his face looked hot, sweaty, it was red and his eyes looked dazed. 

“We’re gonna have to remove it,” she said to Incendio who muttered something incoherent. 

“Right,” Band said, putting Incendio onto a table and wheeling it to a place they had set up and closed the blinds.

“Band, you need help?” a male voice said. 

“Antibiotics, Straxx, painkillers. If we don’t have this, Incendio is gonna feel everything.” 

“Got it,” Straxx said, running to the cupboard on the other side of the room and taking out ask me bottles of medicine and a needle. He grabbed a bottle of something, but it was in the cupboard that deal with pain when they raised the hospital, and back to the other side of the room. He opened the curtain and walked in. 

“Are those the painkillers?” 

“Check,” he said, taking some into the needle. 

“Right into his ankle,” Band said. 

Straxx nodded and stabbed it into one of Incendio’s veins and slowly put it in. Band put a mask and gloves on. 

“Crutches,” Band said. 

Straxx ran out and went to find crutches and, when he arrived, saw Band dressed in a uniform, a saw in her hand, pressed again the top of the ankle. There was bone sticking out of his foot, when the Sicko had bitten in.

“Okay, get into uniform.” Straxx said, putting boots, trousers, mask, gloves and shirt, which were made of plastic to stop blood to get on their clothes. He put a block of wood in Incendio’s mouth. 

“Ready,” he asked, with a nod from Incendio.

“Three,” Band said. 

“Two,” Straxx followed. 

“One,” they said together. Straxx was holding onto Incendio and had strapped him down. Now he was pushing on the leg with a tie wrapped around to stop too much blood coming out. Band started to saw. 

Straxx felt Incendio start to struggle and watched him bite down on the wooden block Straxx kept his hand pushed down on the leg, so it wouldn’t move. Band was through this skin and the vessels and the muscles and was at the bone. She gritted her teeth and kept sawing, blood on her clothes and hands and the saw. 

Straxx could hear Incendio screaming inside his throat. Incendio could feel the wood on his teeth and watched his friend pushing on his leg. All down his leg, concentrated in his foot, he felt and aching, searing, burning pain, shooting up and down. He kept concentrating on the block in his mouth. He felt the pain, worse than anything he had ever felt ever in his life. He was still awake, this was torture. He blacked out. 

Straxx took his hand off his leg and wrapped the tie tighter. He took a breath and watched as Band kept sawing. She was nearly done. Straxx went to get some bandages and came back, where Band had put Incendio’s foot to the side and was waiting. 

“Bandages,” Straxx said. Band took them and wrapped them around the stump. Once she was done, she wheeled him back out and placed him on a bed.

“We need to keep his drinking,” she said.

“I’ll stay on it.”

“Thank you for being there with me, Straxx.” 

Straxx smiled as she leaned on his arm and looked out to London, wondering if anyone else would have to do that again, or has done since the disaster.


	6. Slaughterhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon and Frypan! The group who went to the Tower came back. Then back to Artemis’ group, which is somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I linked this up to the original book (at this point it was The Dead) and I’m super proud of it. I don’t have much expectation for this chapter cause it’s not my best but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Frypan woke to his head resting on Gordon’s head. He and his crush had kept on watch the entire day, making sure no Sickos came and he guessed they both fell asleep. He heard a slight moaning below him and looked down to see, in the dawn light, a figure, with its ear sliced off, boils and sores covering their exposed flesh, a Sicko. 

“Gordon,” he said, shaking him. 

Gordon opened his eyes groggily and looked at Frypan with bleary vision, “hmm?” 

“Sicko,” he replied calmly, “below us.” 

“Oh nice,” Gordon said, leaning over the watchtower and stabbing the Sicko in it’s head. There was a look of surprise across it’s face for a minute before it collapsed to the floor. 

“Easy,” Gordon said, spinning his knife in his hand and dropping it down onto his holster. 

Frypan smiled and got down from the watchtower. It was cold in the morning as it had rained in the evening and there were spots of rain on the ends of the grass and the crops. There was a sweet smell spreading throughout the air that made Frypan feel safe. The rising sun looked good across London and Frypan felt happy that morning, safe and comfortable.

It was quite windy this morning and it was quiet. He heard footsteps coming to the doors. He opened them. It was the group that had gone to the Tower. 

“FN,” he said. 

“Frypan,” FN said, holding out their hand. Frypan shook it. 

“Good to see you.”

“You too.”

“How was it?” 

“Fine. The group is horrible. They do nothing. Lazy bastards.”

“We tried to help and they’re now screwed.” 

FN nodded, “is Check awake?” 

“No.”

“I’m gonna go and wake them up.” 

“Okay. See you later.”

“Bye.” 

Frypan walked back and went back over to where Gordon was and sat back down next to him. They looked out towards London. Frypan’s brain worked something out and a decision was made. He slipped his hand into Gordon’s who looked at him, smiled and looked down the road. 

“I like you, Gordon.”

“I like you too, Frypan.”

Check was asleep in their room, arms and legs spread out across a large bed, until they heard a knock on the door. They opened their eyes and got up slowly, their muscles getting used to working again. They opened the door.

“Hey.”

“Check. Can I talk to you?” asked FN

“Yeah, lemme get changed.” They shut the door and yawned, stretching their arms up and sitting back down on the bed, desperate to not fall back asleep. They took the jeans, Duality t-shirt, shoes, checked shirt and bandana and put them on. They opened the door again. 

“What happened?” 

“We gave the Tower some supplies, but Artemis and her group aren’t back yet. They didn’t meet at the rendezvous. We’re not sure what happened to them.” 

Check’s usually smiling face fell, “shit. Oh shit. We need to find them!” They started to panic, stress building up in their mind. 

“Yes, I know,” FN said, putting his hand on Check’s shoulder to calm them down, “later. We need to make a plan.” 

“Yes, a plan. Good. I need a crew.” 

FN nodded, “later. I’ll wake everyone up.” 

“Thank you.” 

FN nodded. 

“Knife, come on!” Rogue shouted, “ow! Screw you, wanker!” She stabbed a Sicko right between the chest. 

Knife kept running, tripped on a rock and smashed his head on the edge of a rock. His vision quickly went fuzzy and his movement became slow. He groaned and felt a huge mass jump on his stomach, snapping at his face. He hit the temple of the Sicko, pushed himself up and kept running. 

“Where are we?” Pump asked, breathing heavily. 

“Durham Street, nearly at Harleyford Road,” Artemis gasped out. She slipped across the wet road and hit her shoulder on a signpost, “damn!” 

They reached Harleyford, hearing the moans and the groans of the Sickos from behind them. They saw a sign which read: Peckham, Kennington Oval, A202 Brighton, Gatwick (A23) pointing to the left. 

“To the cricket pitch!” Rogue shouted, running down the road. The ran as fast as they could until the came to the gates to the pitch, which were under lock and key. Rogue brought her knife to it and hit it through, breaking the lock and the gates swung open. 

Knife turned and saw a Sicko bearing down on him, teeth chomping. It was a mother, skinny, tall and strong, dressed in torn trousers and shirt. She went to bite him, but Knife drove his blade into the forehead on the creature and pushed it away, the knife still in and driving up so it shot at his face. He stopped it from launching and stepped back, turned and ran through. 

There were Sickos in the small car pack, which was filled with ambulances, police cars, skips, filled with dead people, which the group took out easily and then jumped through the doors, slamming them behind them and placing chairs and other things to stop the Sickos from breaking in. 

“Thank God,” Rogue gasped before turning around and screaming. Dead bodies, hundreds, thousands of them, stacked, laid out, in the stadium, the stands, thousands of them, dead. 

“Holy Jesus,” Gut whispered. Rogue stopped and collapsed on the ground shivering, her backpack smashing to the ground.

“Oh Lord,” Artemis said, walking forward slowly. The smell was putrid, and reminded Knife of the time he was with his family and his uncle had put his hand through the candle on a fire, burning flesh. It used to bring him warmth. Now it was dark (the sun was covered by the vast wall of the stadium) and cold. Knife shivered, a wind chilling his bones. 

He shook. 

He walked out into the stadium, feeling like a cricket player when they walked out. 

“Knife, wait!” 

He felt a body, and kicked past it, “come on.” 

The smell was overpowering, the smell of rotten flesh, blood, burnt flesh, odours, so many smells. It destroyed Knife’s nose.

Artemis followed timidly. Knife put his hand up next to her’s, which was shaking. Rogue got up and followed slowly, her knife at the ready. Gut and Pump took up the rear.

“What the hell is this?” Pump asked to no-one in particular.

“Sicko nest,” Rogue said darkly. 

“No,” Knife said, “these people are dead. Sickos are alive. This is a murder nest. To stop the spread of the virus.” 

“No,” Artemis said, gasping out of fear. 

“Yes,” Rogue said, her voice getting darker, “this is a slaughterhouse.” 

Knife noticed a group of military soldiers in a van, all dead. 

“The military were here,” he said, walking into the van and looking at the armour, “can I have some help with the body armour?” 

“Sure,” Pump said, walking over and opening the stiff door to its full. 

He walked in and watched as Knife tugged at a chest plate. He grabbed the straps and pulling off, dropped it outside of the van and started to focus on the helmet. 

Pump walked forward to another one of the dead soldiers. It was a father, eyes were bulging out of his head and staring glassily at Pump. It’s long matted hair reached down to the bottom of the visor. Pump grabbed it with both hands and tugged on it. The visor came off and the head rolled back in the chair it was seated in. 

Pump put on the visor and turned to see Knife and Gut, Artemis and Rogue all ripping at soldiers to get their armour. Pump smiled, and pulled his visor so the plastic covering, which was spotted with blood, came up so he could see clearer. 

Artemis pulled off a second visor and put it on her head. 

Soon all of them were kitted out: visors, chest plates, shin protectors, gloves, arm pads, shoulder pads and boots. 

Knife placed his visor on his face and looked around. He noticed something in the stands. 

“Guys,” he pointed up. 

There was a group of something moving, large somethings. 

“Sickos,” Artemis said. Knife watched as the Sickos noticed them and ran at them. 

“Stand your ground!” Rogue said. There was a large crash as the doors were thrown wide by the group of Sickos who were chasing them previously 

“Scatter!” Gut shouted, running to the left, slicing the head of a Sicko off.

Rogue, who had picked up and AK-47 from the van turned to the door, “sorry, the stadium is closed today.” She pulled the trigger.


	7. Sicko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ll see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put so much effort on writing the Sicko’s lines and think they’re good and creepy. Hope you do as well!

Check was wondering around the courtyard, feeling stressed about their sister, hoping, she was alright. They felt a large force run into their leg, and, as they looked down, they saw the black hair and rather small body of Illage. 

“I’m hungry,” Illage complained. 

Check smiled kindly down at him, “I’ll go and ask the cooks if they could cook something. Would you like that?”

“Thank you!” Illage said, nodding his head vigorously. 

Check went over to Gordon, who was talking to the rest of cooks, with Frypan in his arms: String, Beef and Elf. 

“Hey, guys.”

“Wassup, Check?” String said, fiddling with a long bit of string that he had picked up near the start of the disease. He had kept it for the whole time and it was often found in his pocket, or in his room, hidden somewhere. 

“Do you wanna cook something? If you want to,” Check said. 

“Yeah, okay,” String said, feeling actually kinda happy that they had something to do. He stood up, “should we go, Elf?” Elf was his best friend, and had always been his best friend. 

Gordon stood up as well, with a hug from Frypan, “I’ll go too.”

Gordon, Elf and String got to the kitchen and taking out some food from the fridge. 

“We can’t use to much, okay?” Gordon said. 

“Got it,” Elf said, taking out a packet of bacon from a fridge and over to the oven, where he started to fry it. He heard a load crash and noticed Gordon, who had collapsed in the corner. 

“Gordon?” String asked, slowly walking over, putting his hand out, “Gordon?” 

String looked at the top of Gordon’s head of hair, which was filled with boils, “Gordon?” 

“Get back!” Elf said, noticing the boils, before quickly jumping back and Gordon turned around, a mad look in his eyes, spit running down his mouth, boils and open cuts across his face. Gordon jumped at String and bit down on his arm. String let out a loud scream of pain. 

“Shit!” Elf yelled, hurriedly running out of kitchen, the sound of his friend’s screaming pounding in his ears, “Shit, shit, shit.” 

“What happened?” Ironside, Check’s friend and second-in-command, asked, running next to him. 

“Gordon, Sicko, String, he’s dead, isn’t he?” 

Ironside sighed and, upon hearing the screaming stop, took out his sword and ran in.

“Stay back!” Ironside shouted, “Check, don’t let anyone in!” 

“Of course!” Check replied. 

Ironside slowly looked around the kitchen, keeping his sword on and ready. He watched the place where String was attacked, noticing the huge pile of blood that was covered on the floor. He saw String’s shoes and slowly moved forward. There was String, his arm was chewed off, the bone showing and his face had been eaten, the nose was gone and there was a glassy look in his dead eyes. He threw up. 

Ironside felt his heart pounding in his chest. Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Boom-boom. He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, slowly making his way around the room, wiping sick from his mouth. He felt shivery and feverish, scared, alert, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He swallowed, feeling the bile burn, like an old hot chocolate that he used to enjoy with his mother, his throat as the spit went down. He felt the muscles in his throat tighten and it felt full, the muscles in his arm prepared at fend of, or even kill, an attacker. 

He heard moving from behind him and quickly swung his sword, barely missing Gordon, who stepped back. Gordon looked terrible, his eyes, which used to be a beautiful baby brown, glowing blood red, his mouth stretched in a psychopathic grin and faint laughter coming from it. 

“What happened, Gordon?” Ironside asked, trying to negotiate, “why did you lie?”

He heard more laughing, a shrill cry, coming from the depths of what used to be Gordon’s voice, which sent a chill of fear down Ironside’s spine.

Ironside breathed lower.

“Look, Gordon, why did you lie?” 

He heard more laughter from Gordon. “Gordon lied. Gordon wished to live. Gordon wanted to survive. Gordon wanted to stay alive as long as possible. Now Gordon has gone. Gordon is me. I am Gordon, a better Gordon. A hungry, hungry Gordon. He is so hungry.” 

“Okay, good,” Ironside said, “you’re speaking, sort of. Tell me more.” 

“Gordon is hungry. Hee-hee-hee.”

“For what?” 

Gordon laughed even harder, a loud laugh that rattled across the kitchen, “Gordon wants kids. Gordon likes how they taste. Gordon wants to gorge on their bodies, wants to eat them until only their bones are what is left. Gordon wants to kill. Gordon wants to feast.”

“Why not eat some, erm,” Ironside halted, “vegetables!” He slid a bunch of carrots to the Sicko. 

“Gordon does not want vegetables. Ha. Gordon wants human meat. He wants it now. Gordon’s stomach is rumbling. Gordon must feast!” He took a few steps forward. Ironside quickly moved back until he felt his back pressed up against a fridge. 

“Gordon will eat Ironside. Gordon will bit off his nose. Gordon will tear off his leg. Gordon will feast on Ironside. Gordon will feast on his organs. Gordon will feast on his skin. Gordon will feast on his blood. Gordon will kill him!” Gordon jumped. Ironside shrieked, jumped to the side, hitting his shoulder on the side of a cupboard. He felt a shot of pain spread down his shoulder and to his hand, the nerves stinging. 

“Gordon must feast!” Gordon chanted, jumping back at Ironside, who put out his sword. Gordon grabbed it was a bare hand, letting the sword cut through his skin and veins, blood seeping out, the fingers starting to crack as the bone was split. 

“Oh, damn,” Ironside whispered, as the sword was pulled from his hand and slid, clattering along the floor. Gordon seemed completely unaffected by the fact that his hand was nearly cut in two, still chanting, which scared Ironside even more. He scrambled away as Gordon crawled to him, laughing and chanting, licking his lips. 

“Gordon must feast! Gordon must feast!” Ironside felt his arm being grabbed by the Sicko and pulled away, with such strength, it made Ironside let out an unnatural shriek. 

“Hungry Gordon,” said Gordon. 

Ironside clenched his fist and went to punch the attacker in the face but was shoved away and grabbed onto his shirt and Ironside was pulled forward. Out of a last act of desperation, Ironside put his hands on the two cabinets next to him and put his knee right into Gordon’s neck, his hands stopping the pull right before the chomping face, desperate to take a bite out of him. 

“Gordon. Must. Feast!” Gordon screamed at the top of his lungs. Ironside pushed with all his might and Gordon was thrown, slamming his back into an oven and growling menacingly. 

“The Hungry Gordon doesn’t like the aggressive food. Gordon likes his food to be easy to catch.” 

“What are you going to do?” Ironside said, pushing himself up. 

“They Hungry Gordon will attack. He will stop Ironside’s legs from working and Gordon will break his arms. Gordon will eat as Ironside watches. Gordon will enjoy this most delicious feast. Gordon will not be satisfied. Gordon was eat the other boy. Gordon will wait. Gordon will leave and Gordon will kill and eat. Gordon is so very hungry.”

“Check!” Ironside shouted, “help!” He noticed Gordon laughing. He was laughing harder than he ever laughed and was grinning crazily. 

“Gordon locked the door,” he chuckled, “Gordon will have his easy meal now.” He ran at Ironside, back on his feet, as he launched himself at him. Ironside punched Gordon in the face. 

“GORDON WANTS HIS EASY MEAL!” Gordon shouted at the top of his lungs, “and Gordon wants it now.” 

Ironside ran away, right to his sword, which was placed by Gordon’s feet. Gordon swung quickly but. Ironside ducked, smashing Gordon on his shin and tripping him up, Gordon’s face smashing on the ground. Ironside grabbed his sword and turned to the Sicko on the ground. 

“Please, do not kill Gordon,” Gordon said, “Gordon is sorry. Gordon doesn’t want to kill Ironside.” Ironside hesitated slightly, a fatal mistake. 

Gordon jumped, crushing the wind out of Ironside’s chest. 

“Ironside will die now.” Then a knife entered through Gordon’s skull, a look of surprise on his face. Ironside breathed out a sign of relief when he saw his best friend, Check, standing over the death body of the Sicko he was fighting. 

Check looked at him, “you’re an idiot.” 

Ironside stared back at him, a look of annoyance on his face, “at least I’m still alive.”

“Thanks to me.” 

“I was trying my best.” 

“And you nearly died.” 

Check put his hand out and Ironside took it gratefully, “we should bury him.” 

“String, yeah definitely,” Check said, crouching down next to him and closing his eyes, breathing deeply, “we’ve lost so many people.”

“Yes, we should bury him. But also Gordon.”

Check frowned, “he’s a Sicko.”

“And you’ve said we’ve lost so many people. So we should bury Gordon.” 

“He killed String and tried to kill you.”

“Gordon!” Ironside heard a shouting, “where’s Gordon? What happened to my boyfriend?” 

“Frypan,” Check said, “can we talk?”

The poor boy looked like he was about to cry, Ironside thought. 

“Where is he?” 

“Frypan,” Check said reassuringly, putting his hand on Frypan’s shoulder, “he was a Sicko. He lied about his age.”

Frypan fell to his knees and put his head into his arms, “I’m going to go.” 

Check nodded, “should we bury him?”

“Yes,” Frypan said, “we bury him.”


	8. The Battle at The Oval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically just fighting in this chapter. If I’m honest, I don’t know what to write in these, cause I don’t want to give too much away. Maybe some triggers. Just bloody violence, I guess? Anyway, hope you enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m probably gonna post the next one in an hour or so, so keep and eye out for that.

Rogue felt the gun push her back as the bullets. She fell and tripped over, landing in a pile of dead adults. She groaned and aimed the gun again, shooting at Sickos, who were running at her. She killed six of them, God this thing was powerful. The gun clicked as she tried to spam the trigger; she had to reload. Rogue scrambled back into the van, closing the doors and jumping back, the Sickos slamming on the door, desperate to eat her. She swung the backpack of guns to the floor and slid over to a dead adult who she had taken the AK-47 from.

Rogue grabbed a few magazines and placed them in her pocket, sweat clinging onto her hands. She placed one into the gun and reloaded it. The van was pushed and she fell back on the floor, rolling over and clambering into the front of the van. She started the engine, which rumbled to life. 

Outside, she heard Pump, “get off me, shitbags!” There was screaming from him, the sound of teeth on plastic and then laughing.

“Ha ha! Can’t bite me, can you? You little shitter!” he shouted. Rogue panicked and grabbed the gearstick and jammed it into what she guessed was reverse. She smashed one of the pedals which launched her backwards. She swore loudly as she heard the cracking and popping of breaking bones and the bursting as swollen bodies were destroyed. She quickly moved the gearbox into forward and she was pulled forward, over bodies and to Pump, who was getting overwhelmed. 

Knife was in the stands, chopping up two Sickos who were on either side of him. Slice, slice, stab, slice, was all that was running through his head. When he heard the van start up, he ducked through the legs of one, emerged from the other side and stabbed it finally through the heart, through the back, and, taking a smaller knife, threw one at the other Sicko, which landed cleanly in its chest. He ran through and jumped down, noticing the sun peeking through the top of the Oval. 

He sprinted down, jumping from chairs to chairs, before his foot was grabbed by a Sicko and he was pulled back. It was a father, he noticed. Fat, broken teeth, ragged t-shirt, torn shorts, short black hair. It bared its teeth and growled at him. Knife desperately tried to kick it but it kept backing away, holding tightly onto Knife’s other foot, keeping it from moving. 

He had dropped his knife and was reaching for it, struggling as much as he could. He grabbed onto a seat, stopping his from moving any further and held himself there, determined not to move. He felt the Sicko’s grip slacken and kicked it as hard as he could. The hands came off his foot and Knife leaped forward, narrowing missing hitting his head on a chair, picking up his knife and throwing it so it landed in the father’s stomach. It made a small noise and collapsed. He ran forward and grabbed the knife and started to run back down. 

Rogue drove to Pump and watched him for a second as he kept fighting. She pushed open the doors and jumped out, spraying the Sickos with the gun, making sure to avoid Pump. 

Pump jumped forward out of the knot of Sickos and ran forward to where Rogue was. 

“Get in the van, drive. Give me your gun.” 

She passed him the gun and extra ammunition and ran into the van, starting to drive it again. Pump grabbed the handle of the door and hung off it, gun out, feet on the edge of where the end of the van was. 

“Drive!” he shouted, shooting at Sickos which were starting to attack him. The noise was deafening and made his ears ring but he kept firing until he heard a clicking. He ducked back into the van, shut the door, and started to reload the gun when he heard a slight moaning. 

He turned and saw another Sicko, one of the ones where they’d stripped of body armour, walking towards him. He tried to shoot at it but it grabbed the gun and pushed up so there was shots into the ceiling. 

The Sicko noticed a piece of bare flesh on Pump’s neck and pushed his head away, driving its teeth into the neck, feeling the veins and muscles split and gush warm blood into its mouth. The boy was screaming and the Sicko decided to shut him up. 

It leaned away, blood dripping from its mouth, muscles trapped in between its teeth. Then it looked at the boy’s eyes and went forward, gorging itself on the eyes and bones, feeling them splinter, chewing the tongue, ripping it out, eating the boy, loving every moment. It heard doors swing open and — 

“Pump!” Gut yelled, slicing the Sicko who was feasting on his brother’s face, “no! Oh, God, no!” 

“We don’t have time!” Artemis shouted, pushing him in by his back, “Rogue, get knife!” 

Knife was in trouble. He had sprained his ankle and was getting attacked by multiples Sickos. He sliced at them one after the other: a mother, gone, a teen, gone, two fathers, gone. He stabbed at one through the chest, which fell on him and he pushed them off his body and again, there was another. His arm was getting tired, his chest ached. 

The van drove up to him and Gut, who was angry, opened the doors wide and sprayed every Sicko in range. 

“Get it!” 

Knife got up and ran towards the van, grabbing onto the door and jumping in. He noticed Pump. Gut shut the door and locked it. He sat down and leaned his back against the wall. 

“How do you know how to drive?” asked Knife. 

“I was taught by my dad, well tractors. They’re about the same.” 

Knife climbed into the front and put his seatbelt on as them smashed through the gates and out of the car park. 

“We need to get back,” Knife said. 

“No shit,” Gut said, angrily. They stared at the road form a minute and crashed into a Sicko, which was standing in the middle of the road. The van skidded into a building and lay there as the group heads hit together. Knife his banged his head twice, once on the glass, and another time on the hard metal wall. The kids in the van, still, unconscious, trapped.


	9. The Funerals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not really that much action in his one but graves. Introduces a character who is in the original series, so hope you can jump on that if you can see it, although he has a different name, thanks to Check and the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I’ve finished the first part of this series and am doing the next one. I’ll keep doing this one every week and then take a break before posting the next one.  
> This chapter references ‘Alexander Hamilton’ in the musical Hamilton.

Ironside was by the side of the Thames, digging two graves. He had had to kill a couple of Sickos, that had made their way to the end of the Thames and had stumbled slowly to him. He had picked up the shovel, which he was using to dig the graves and smashed them with it. He then pulled them and put them to the side, not throwing them into the water, so it could still be used for drinking. 

He then moved back to the graves and started to dig deeper. He was sweating, the windchill making the droplets colder on his skin. He was thinking about Gordon. 

"Goddammit Gordon," he said out loud, digging up a big bit of dirt and throwing it behind him so it hit the wall.

"Calm down, soldier," said Check, who had arrived, a speck of mud on their shoulder, which they flicked off, "you were right. We do bury Gordon."

Ironside smiled slightly, "I'm always right, mate."

"Narcassit," Check laughed.

Ironside chuckled and dug the shovel further down. He tried to pull it up, but it was too heavy. Check walked over and held onto the shovel at the same time as his friend.

"Three, two, one," Ironside said as they both pulled and the dirt was pushed up. Check breathed on a sigh of relief and it was put to the side. 

"Like the time I cracked my head open," Ironside observed. 

"I don't remember that," Check said honestly. 

Ironside smiled, "we were playing Tag and someone pushed me into the fake shitty fire engine in the school playground. Whacked my head. You carried me to the nurses office cause I could barely walk. I think I was concussed."

"Oh yeah!" Check said, "you had to go to the damn hospital!" 

Ironside laughed, "yep I did." 

Check noticed a Sicko walking slowly over to them, "hey, Sicko."

Ironside turned, picked up the shovel and walked over to it, smashing it in the side, cracking the head open. 

He dragged the body over to the wall and dumped it there. Check watched in awe as Ironside cleanly took out the Sicko and disposed of it.

"You get up to a lot outside of The Shard?"

"Oh you don't even know, Check, or should I say, Jay?" 

Check looked at him, eyes narrowed, "we don't use our real names, Alex."

"Shut up," Ironside said, unable to not smile, "it's a good theory."

"Mine?"

"Yeah."

"The one about how real names make us cling to our past and our parents so our new names makes us think about the present or my Minecraft theory?"

"The first one. Wait, you have Minecraft theory?" Ironside said, astounded. 

"Yeah, I said I didn't like it because I wanted people to like me. I was the sad, quiet kid."

"Hey," Ironside said, "we were the sad, quiet kids." 

Check smiled and opened their arms, "come here, dude."

Ironside gladly took it and hugged his best friend. They would never be separate, even in the damn apocalypse. 

Ironside went to the graves he was digging but Check walked over and held our their hand. 

"Let me, get a rest." 

Ironside gave Check the shovel gratefully and went to sit down on the wall.

"So, your Minecraft theory?" 

"A virus hit the world and the only survivors are the Villagers and the player crash-landed on the planet and they can’t escape." 

"Ooh. Nice." 

Check looked at the dirt and started to dig, aware that his friend was watching from behind them. 

Check started to sing. Their voice wasn’t brilliant when it came to singing but it reassured Ironside, who recognised the Hamilton opening song.

Ironside looked at them and continued. Both of them loved Hamilton and had listened to it constantly after they went to see it on stage together. 

A few minutes later, Check was about to finish before a voice interrupted with the final word of the song.

It sang. Check quickly got the shovel up from the ground and aimed it at a boy, splattering mud on his face. Ironside got up and put his sword and the boys throat. 

"Hey, hey, hey, calm down," the boy said. 

"Name?" Check asked.

"What?" 

"Name!" they shouted. 

"Alfie, my name's Alfie," the boy said, panicking. 

"Not good enough," Ironside said. 

"You what?" 

"You choose your name if you want to join with us," Check said. 

"I do, yes please, I've been alone since this started."

"Choose your name," Check said, putting the shovel down, Ironside following suit. 

"Can I be Hamilton?" Hamilton said. 

"Sure," Check said, turning around and starting to dig again. 

"Whatcha doing?" Hamilton asked. 

"They're digging graves," Ironside said for Check. 

"They?" 

"I'm non-binary." 

"Cool," Hamilton said, "who you digging for?" 

"Two friends," Check said, "Gordon and String."

"String?" Hamilton scoffed. 

Check rolled his eyes and Ironside and stabbed the earth deeper. 

"What happened?" Hamilton asked. 

"Gordon lied about his age and became a Sicko. He killed String and I killed him." 

"Sounds like you couldn't trust him. And you're burying him?" Hamilton said astounded. 

"Hey!" Ironside said, standing up and pulling his sword out, "he only wanted a safe place, like you I bet."

"Yes please, don't chuck me out."

"How many Sickos have you killed?" Check asked, stabbing the shovel back into the ground. 

"Sickos? Oh, you mean the grown-ups?"

"Yes I mean the fucking grown-ups."

"Zero then, look at me, I don't even have a weapon."

"Rules out Brutes," Ironside said.

"Killed animals. Good with blood? Medical?' Check continued. 

"1. No I've never killed an animal. 2. I'm crap with blood and medical. 3. What's a Brute?" Hamilton said. 

"Our fighters," Check said, "nine of them. The Butchers deal with animals, four. The Nurses, six. Cooks, five. Farmers, five."

"I'll farm," Hamilton said, "sounds safe."

"Not living up to your name are ya?" Check whispered. 

Ironside snorted. 

"What?" Hamilton complained.

"Alexander Hamilton? Revoutionary? Fought against the British? Not a farmer," Ironside replied. 

"I'm done," Check said, "should we go get the rest of the group?" 

"Yeah," Ironside said, "let's go." 

"Can I come?" Hamilton asked, "I hate it out here. I've been attacked countless times and I need a safe place. Please?" 

"Yes," Check said, "just stay away from the group until after we're done with the burial. They won't trust you."

"What about you?" Hamilton asked. 

"I don't know you well enough yet," Check said, "sorry."

"Got to look out for you group?" Hamilton said. 

"Yeah." 

They walked away back to the Shard, climbing over a train track with the ladders they had put in. Luckily, the electricity had been stopped very early on, along with the nuclear power stations and all that stuff that would've caused harm. 

Check clambered across the tracks, studying the train that was crashed there on the edge of the wall at the station. 

“You looted that?” Hamilton asked. 

“Of course,” Ironside replied. He walked up to Check, who was climbing down the ladder on the other side. 

“Check,” he started to say, following them down the ladder.

“I know. You don’t trust Hamilton, which is good. Neither do I.” 

“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Ironside said, surprised, “he’s a dick.”

“Yes he is,” Check continued, arms crossed as they watched Hamilton climb down the ladder and reach the ground. They turned and walked over to the wall, noticing Frypan, sitting in the watchtower. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

“Yep,” Check said. 

Frypan noticed Hamilton behind them, “who’s that?”

“Hamilton.” 

“Hamilton?” 

“I am here you know,” Hamilton said. 

Frypan opened the door and let them in. It was bleak in the courtyard: people watching, working, two dead bodies on the floor, kids crying. 

“I want to go home,” Illage said. 

Check walked over to him, to a thump on the arm from Netherite, “I had to tell him. Me and Frypan both agreed.” 

Check glared at him and walked over to Illage. Behind them, Netherite was taking String’s wrapped up body as Frypan took Gordon’s. 

“I want my mummy,” Illage cried, tears running down his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Check said. 

Illage jumped into Check’s chest and leant his head on them, “I love you, Check. I don’t blame you. You wanted to protect me, didn’t you?” 

“Yes.”

Illage pulled away and stood up, taking Check’s hand as they walked out together, followed, at a distance, by Hamilton, who stood awkwardly behind the group, after being introduced by Ironside. 

Frypan placed Gordon’s body in the grave which Ironside and Check had dug and turned to everyone. His brother, arms crossed, standing over where String was. Check and Illage were next to each other, holding hands, as Illage now saw Check as a parental figure. 

The nurses were standing together, Incendio on crutches, still getting used to his foot, Straxx’s arm around Band. Kadie was standing on another pair of crutches, looking bored, which sent a rush of anger down Frypan’s spine. The farmers were at the back, watching, watching silently and the Brutes were near the front, weapons in hand. 

“So, uh,” Frypan coughed, “I liked Gordon and this morning, damn, hard to believe it was this morning, we decided to date. I guess he wanted to enjoy life and sanity while he had it.” He sniffed, feeling tears starting to well up in his eyes, “Gordon was important to me. He was my best friend and I miss him and it’s starting to set in that I will never see him again.” Tears started to roll down his eyes. 

“You don’t have to,” Netherite said, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to,” he said. Frypan started to cry and walked over to the group. Check put their hand on his shoulder and Illage grabbed Frypan’s hand.

Elf walked over go String’s grave and said a few words, but they barely made their way into Frypan’s mind. When Elf was done, Netherite, Ironside and Sister-Of-Mine, also known as Som, who was another Brute, went to bury the bodies. Frypan walked back, rubbing his arm as Check walked over to him. 

“We send a group out,” they said. 

“And we send it now,” Frypan finished.


	10. The Squatters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Artemis and the crew. Don’t know much about medical stuff but I did some research so I hope it’s somewhat accurate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in fact, the halfway chapter. So we are halfway through this one! It’s not a very long fac fic, as it’s the first proper thing I’ve written. The next few ones, after this one, will be longer hopefully.

Knife heard dull noises, loud noises, coming from out of the crashed van. 

“-ck you! My guy is in there! He is-!” Dark

“Look darling, it’s bur-.” A thump, like a fist. Dark 

“-ont call me dar-, -ou arsehole.” Knife felt a large weight on his leg and looked down to see it trapped under a seat. He twisted his head to the side, to see a smashed window and a knife dropped at the floor. 

“He’s awake!” the girl, who was Artemis said, grabbing his arms and pulling him out across the glass, which didn’t cut into him thanks to the body armour. He climbed up onto his feet and put his arm around her. She carried him over to the side and sat him down. 

He looked up to see the face of an ugly, missing toothed, head-shaved boy, through his slightly blurry vision. He bared down at Knife. 

“John, this is Knife,” Artemis said. Knife heard her, but their voices swam in his head. Recognisable, but weird. 

“Skinny,” John said, “he’s a skinny bastard, look at him.” 

“Hey!” Knife said, trying to stand up but swaying and falling to the floor. 

“Weak too,” John said, turning to Artemis, “I though you would’ve survived with stronger people, Ellie.” 

“Artemis,” Artemis corrected. 

“Not to me,” John said, “nah, you’ll always be Ellie. Remember school?” 

“Yes, it was four weeks ago,” Artemis said slyly.John chuckled and turned around to look at Knife, who was glaring at him. 

“These are the Squatters,” John said, pointing at his gang, “twenty-eight of us, all from our old school, but we will grow. Hehe. Want to join?” 

“What?” Artemis said. 

“Want to join? Anything for an old friend,” he repeated, walking up to Artemis and putting his hand out. She smacked it away. 

“No, I’m not leaving my sibling.” 

“Where are they?” John asked, grinning. 

“I’m not telling you!” Artemis complained. 

“Hehe, sneaky,” John said, “I will find them. For now, stay with us. Your transport is destroyed and maybe you’ll like it here.” 

“Where?” 

“Follow us.” 

They walked down the road and Rogue walked over to Artemis, Knife at the back being followed by Gut, who had a look of determination, mixed with grief, on his face. 

“You dated John I’m guessing?” she said. 

Artemis laughed, “no.” Rogue raised her eyebrows and looked at her knowingly. 

“Yes,” Rogue said. 

“Yes,” Artemis confessed, going red, “in my defence! He wasn’t that ugly. And he was cleverer, really nice as well.”

“He’s a dick,” Rogue said. 

“He is a dick,” Artemis agreed, “good Lord, I don’t know how I used to date that guy. He used to have all his teeth! And his hair wasn’t shaved!” 

“You’re just pointing out his physical flaws now, ain’t ya?” Rogue said. 

“Yeah,” Artemis said and the both laughed. 

After a few minutes, they reached what looked like a park, “welcome home.” 

They walked through the trees and saw a, well, what looked like a town, but makeshift. Little shacks were placed here and there, all made of wood or cardboard, the cardboard ones protected with trees in case of rain. The wooden ones were larger and Rogue noticed a couple of shops, were food and water was being sold for books and toys, entertainment. Rogue looked around to see a boy, who was dressed a bit like a pirate. 

“Carl!” John said. 

“John,” Carl said, walking over past a small wooden house where there was a young girl in there, sleeping. Damn, it was still early, Rogue thought. 

“I got new guys,” John exclaimed. 

“Oh, we’re not staying,” Artemis started to say. 

“This is Rogue, Artemis, Gut and Knife,” John interrupted. 

“Should I give them the tour?” Carl asked. 

“Yes,” John said, “do you have my alcohol?” 

“Raided the shop first thing this morning, shelves still chock-a-block full of wine, tequila, vodka, beer, cider, gin.” 

“I’m going to my shack, bring me a beer.” 

“Already there.” 

Rogue crossed her arms and looked down at the ground, feeling sheepish. Gut held Knife under his shoulder, who was feeling, and looking, weak and exhausted. 

“Do you have a doctor?” Gut asked. 

“No, but we have a girl who knows a little about stuff like that. I’ll get her too take a look at your mate.” 

“Thank you,” Gut said, “where is she?” 

Carl guided the group to a shack near the entrance to the park, which was made of cardboard. He kicked the side of the shack, which made it fall down. 

“Carl!” a female voice said from the inside, “if you just wanted to annoy me I swear to God-“ she walked out and saw Carl, arms crossed and the four others. 

She sighed, “what happened.”

“Our guy hit his head,” Gut said, “we crashed a van.” 

“Come on,” she said, “I’m Maeve, been teaching myself medial stuff. And picked up a bit from my parents.” She guided Gut and Knife into the shack. It was small, a sleeping bag and a mattress in the centre of the room, a pile of medical books and comics at the side. Some were scattered around the ground, some were bent in half, some were open on the floor. 

“Sorry about the mess,” she said, “let’s get you on the floor.” She took Knife, who was moaning softly, from Gut’s arms and placed him on the makeshift bed. She shone a light between his eyes and looked down. After a little while, she put it down. 

“Mild concussion. Should be gone in a few days. Needs rest. Will need painkillers and water a lot and someone too look after him. Can you do it?”

“Yeah I will,” Gut said, “good to meet you.” He held his hand out. She took it gratefully. 

“Gut,” he said. 

“Gut?” 

“It’s my leader’s theory. And it was my old nickname.” 

“Good to meet you, Gut.” Maeve said. 

Meanwhile, Carl was giving Rogue and Artemis a tour of the tiny camp. The shacks seemed to have been built up very quickly and were small and not very protective. 

“We get up traps at the entrance so no wackos get in without us knowing,” Carl was explaining. 

“You call ‘em wackos?” Artemis said, “we call ‘em Sickos.”

“Sickos? Nice.” 

He led the to the shacks, “most are for where people sleep and stuff but there are a couple shops and every night, we have a fire and a singsong.” 

Rogue looked at Artemis. 

“A singsong?” she said. 

“A way to keep the motivation up,” Carl said, “we face shit everyday.” 

“Actually sounds quite nice,” Artemis said honestly, rolling up her sleeves and crossing her arms. 

Knife felt a thumping headache in his brain, his eyes slightly fuzzy and blurry. He felt sick and tired and slumped. He heard footsteps and talking, a light in his eyes. 

“Mild concussi-.” The light went away. He was tired. He wanted to sleep. He closed his eyes.


	11. The Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one, Check, Sister-Of-Mine aka Som, Hamilton and Ironside go looking for Artemis and those people. Stuff goes down. Enjoy ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say today. Still posting on Mondays. Hope you enjoy the chapter. See you next week.

Meanwhile, Check was walking, determinedly, down the street, heading past the Imperial War Museum, which they had checked, and the Artemis and her group weren’t there. Check was followed closely behind by Ironside, who was rushing at every Sicko he saw in the street and killing them. Sister-Of-Mine, a twelve-year-old girl who was quiet and kept to herself most of the time, was wondering behind them by a couple of meters, fingered a sword which she had taken from the Museum. She was a fearless fighter though and was great in a battle. And, finally, at the end, Hamilton was walking, hands in his pockets and his head hunched down, a kitchen knife by his side.

Check was watching him secretly out of the corner of their eye. Hamilton looked sad, scared, alone so Check decided to walk down to him, letting Ironside and Sister-Of-Mine lead the small group.

“So, before this started, did you have a family or friends?”

“Of course I had friends,” Hamilton said accusingly, “yeah, I was having a sleepover with my friends. One of them, who was a lot older than the rest of us went crazy, he became a Sicko. I learned the next day that he was one of the first people to get infected in the UK. He killed one of my other friends.”

“Family?” Check asked.

“Mothers. A brother. All dead as you can imagine. Lucky you though! Sister still alive!” He hit him on the shoulder and smiled.

“Yeah,” Check said distractedly, looking ahead.

They came across a park named Pedlar’s Park and noticed a raised something and a road leading down, following the wall with lots and lots of canisters, shut doors, vines and bins.

Ironside turned and looked at Check, a huge grin on his face.

“What?” Check asked.

Ironside pointed at it and smiled, “there’s a van next to the bridge. We could climb up onto it and get to the tracks.”

Check frowned at the way up, “it’s pretty high, man.” Vines were creeping up the wall and curling around the red-brick wall.

“Come on!” Ironside said, “it’ll mean we get across London quicker, and we’re higher so it’s easier to see your sister!”

“Goddamnit,” Check swore, rubbing their eyes, “fine, fine. Let’s go.”

Sister-Of-Mine smiled and watched Check, as they ran over towards the van, pulling a large bin to the back of it and started to climb it, followed by Ironside.

“Come on!” Hamilton shouted at Sister-Of-Mine, who was watching and shaking her head amusedly. She rolled her eyes and reluctantly followed, slipping her sword into the holder and jumped up onto the bin, following Hamilton.

Check got to the top of the van, jumped up onto a vine and scrambled their feet into a part of the brick wall, which was stuck further out. They smiled down at the other three and jokingly pretended to jump down, scaring the others.

“Stop,” Hamilton said, “and get the hell up.”

“Sorry,” Check chuckled and started climbing up on the vine. They felt a snap, “shit.” They fell crashing to the top of the van.

Hamilton laughed, “watch me.” He climbed up on a vine, grabbed the top of the wall and pushed himself up.

He looked down and smiled confidently, “oh crap, Sickos!” He pointed down the road.

“Oh God,” Ironside said, “go, Check!”

“No!” Check said, “you go up, followed by Sister-Of-Mine, then I go!” Ironside breathed deeply through his nostrils.

“Fine, go!” he looked at Sister-Of-Mine, “we need a new name for you.”

“Som, call me Som, or just Sister-Of-Mine, I don’t care,” she said.

Ironside mock saluted and climbed a vine. Check started to push Som back to the vine as a Sicko grappled at their foot. Check kicked at the Sicko’s face and pushed Som. She took a vine and started to climb up as Check stabbed at a Sicko.

They grabbed a vine and started to climb up, grabbing Som and Ironside’s arms and getting pulled up to the tracks. Check smiled and stood up. They pointed down the tracks, further away from Lambeth and deeper South into London.

They started to walk down the tracks, twisting their sword through their hand and looking down at the Sickos below them.

“How many of them are there do you reckon?” Check asked as a Sicko tried to get on the van, but falling immediately. 

Ironside shrugged and looked down, “ten, fifteen?”

“They look relatively more diseased as well,” Som said, walking towards Check and looking down at the Sickos, who were crawling at the van, desperate to eat the kids up there.

One of them, who was clutching at a dismembered looking body, growling and attempting to climb before falling back down. It growled deeper and jumped back up. The Sicko tilted his head and threw the knife up, which he had found on the floor. 

Check backed up and looked down, “that one’s clever.”

The Sicko who threw the knife and growled back at Check, a small voice coming from it, “Liam.”

“Who’s Liam?” Hamilton laughed. The Sicko waved the dismembered body around and Check gasped.

“That’s Liam.”

“Ah,” Hamilton said, looking slightly scared. 

“Let’s go,” Ironside said, pushing on Check’s back. 

The group made their way across the tracks, further away from Lambeth and deeper into the South of London. Every now and again, they came across an abandoned train, either on its side or straight up, mostly empty, except for a couple of exceptions. 

In the second compartment they explored, Check found a laptop in a backpack which was, obviously, out of juice and a pretzel in an airtight bag. Check split off the parts which didn’t have an mould on it and passed it around to Som, Ironside and Hamilton. 

Ironside glared at Check when they gave him some. 

“What?” Check asked, laughing.

Ironside silently tore it in half and gave it to Check, making sure to give them the bigger half.

“Are you sure?” Check asked. 

“Yeah,” Ironside said, “eat.” Check took it gladly and looked forward at Som and Hamilton, who were both talking to each other. 

Check tripped up over a rail and swore at it before noticing it was a hand that had tried to grab at him. They panicked slightly and drew their sword, realising that it was a Sicko with one arm and both of his legs gone. It wasn’t even that badly diseased though, just injured. Check stabbed it square between the eyes, splitting the skull and turning around just before its brains spilled out. 

They continued to walk down the tracks. Hamilton in front with Som. Check in the middle, swishing their sword and keeping an eye on Ironside, who was trailing behind, swivelling his sword around and fighting imaginary monsters. Not really that imaginary anymore, Check thought.

Check smiled slightly and looked back down at the tracks, making sure not to trip up again. Eventually, they came across a train station. Check walked up to Hamilton and Som. They had their sword to their side, hanging down and nearly touching Som’s, which was by her side by her right. Hamilton stood next to Check on their right, a long kitchen knife in hand. Finally Ironside came up to behind them and pressed on Check’s back. 

“Let’s move,” Check said, strolling forward. When they came to the station, they looked left to see a small group of three boys, one tall and blond, one with a strawberry red birthmark on one side of his face and one who was tall and strong, like a rugby player. They were talking rather loudly, Check noticed. 

“Idiots,” Som said, “they’re gonna get heard by Sickos!” 

“Sickos!” Check heard on of them shout, the one with the birthmark, “I’m going to kill any that come near me!” 

“Let’s get down,” Ironside said, looking over the tracks and jumping down onto a bin, “easy.” Hamilton followed and hopped down. Then Check. And lastly, Som. She jumped in and accidentally kicked a glass bottle, smashing it and spreading shards everywhere. 

The three boys looked back and stopped. 

“Probably a Sicko, Jack,” one of them said, “one isn’t worth it.” They kept walking. 

A couple of minutes later, Check, along with the rest, decided to follow them. They watched as the boys made their way into The Oval. Check snuck around and made the way to the open doors, watching them look around. 

“What the hell?” Check said, looking at the skips full of dead bodies, “that’s weird.” 

“It’s a Sicko skip,” Hamilton laughed. 

“Dead-y skip,” Ironside corrected, laughing. 

“Boys,” Check heard Som whispering impatiently. Check chuckled. They watched the boys looting some vans and military vehicles. Check and the others hid in another car outside of the stadium and watched through the rearview mirror facing the open doors.

They sat there for a couple of minutes, watching closely, until they saw the boy named Jack running around, shouting, spraying a sub machine gun. 

“Oh God, what is that boy doing?” Som said. A bullet hit a propane tank near the doors. 

“Shit,” Check swore as the explosion launched the car back so the roof of it hit the ground and the vehicle skidded back. They heard more swearing from their peers as they crashed down into a building and then the car lay still. 

“Bloody hell,” Ironside said, looking around. Check noticed Hamilton near the front window, which had been smashed, Som near him, rolling her head around and banging at the steel door. Check looked at the front window, where the glass which was still there was jagged and sharp. Hamilton started to move to it.

“Don’t!” Check said, “look, the glass with shred you. There’s not enough space! There’s some on the ground as well.” 

Hamilton put a hand down out of the window and was immediately impaled in his hand. He cried out in pain. 

Check let out an exasperated sigh, “what did I tell you?” 

“Well have you got a plan?” Hamilton sniped back, “or are we just gonna sit here?” 

“Shut up, you coward. I’m not even sure why you wanted to come alone!” Check argued. 

“Guys,” Som said. 

“Because no-one at the Shard trusts me and would chuck me out!” Hamilton replied angrily. 

“Guys!” 

“Maybe I will, then!” Check shouted. 

“Guys!” Som yelled over Check’s voice, “we cut out through the doors.” 

“With what?” Hamilton frowned. 

“Sword, dickhead,” Som said, pointing it near his face and beginning to cut through. Check smiled and tried to move but their foot twinged with pain, They tried to twist it, which made it hurt even more.

“Fuck, I’m stuck,” they said. 

“Twist it,” Hamilton said. 

“I can’t,” Check answered, “duh.” 

“Check,” Ironside said, his voice small.

“Not yet,” Check replied, trying to move his foot. 

“Check, I think this is important.” 

“What?” Check asked, turning their head and looking at their lifelong friend. A piece of glass was lodged in his side, blood coming out, a single tear running down his cheek.


	12. The Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some stuff happens in this chapter. We learn a bit about Check and Ironside’s past. Some people come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are only about 8 chapters left of this one. This isn’t as good as the next ones I’m hoping to write. It’s just a starter. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

"No, no, no, no," Check whispered, desperately trying to get to Ironside. 

There was a grunt from the other end of the car and a clatter as Som had cut the door off. She started to manoeuvre her way out, throwing the sword and wiggling through. 

"It's okay, Check," Ironside said. 

"No, it's not," Check said, moving their body closer to Ironside without twisting their ankle. They got closer and felt the glass pressed up against Ironside’s weak flesh. It was soft. 

“Check,” Ironside said, pressing his hand to his friend’s head, letting them lean on it, “it’s okay.” Check let out a sob. 

“We had some good times, didn’t we, Jay?” Ironside said, “remember when we were at school and there was a food fight? You got a whole damn banana on your face.”

Check laughed, “you had chicken in your blazer pocket!” Ironside laughed and winced. They heard a sawing above them and a sword coming through the top and cutting round. Most of the seats in the car had been taken out so this was possible. 

“You’re gonna survive this,” Check said, “Alex, you’re staying alive.” 

Check took the shard of glass and looked at Ironside, who had a look of pain in his eyes. He nodded. Check pulled out the glass. Thank God it was only a couple of centimetres deep. Check took off his checked shirt. 

“Don’t ruin it,” Ironside said. 

“Don’t be stupid, stupidhead,” Check said, pressing the shirt to the wound hard. Ironside winced more and breathed through the pain, “keep that on.”

“Ready?” Som said from outside. 

“Yep,” Hamilton said. Som cut through the last little bit. The roof, well the floor, collapsed it. Hamilton caught it.

“Damn, I cut my hand,” Hamilton said. 

“Oh you cut your hand?” Check snapped, “my friend has been bloody stabbed!” Hamilton glared at them and lifted the car off. 

“Don’t snipe at him,” Ironside said, “you need to let him feel welcome.”

“You’re not dying,” Check promised, “don’t say shit like you won’t be here.” 

Ironside smiled, “I’m a fighter.”

“You’re leg’s caught under a seat that was left in here. It’s loose though, so I can move it,” Som said. 

“Thanks,” Check said, pressing against Ironside’s side. He was free to move, luckily. 

Check felt an immense weight being lifted off their foot and stood up, grabbing Ironside’s arm and pulling him up with them. Som took his other arm and they both lifted him over their shoulders and out of the skeleton of the car. 

“I can stand,” Ironside reassured. They let him go and he immediately fell back down. 

“Congrats,” Check laughed. Ironside laughed along. Som took his arm.

“I’ll take him back. The nurses can look after him, stitch up the wound,” she said. 

“Yep,” Check said, “me and Hamilton keep going, looking for Artemis.” Sister-Of-Mine nodded obediently and started to carry Ironside back, his arm around her neck. 

Hamilton punched Check playfully on the arm, “don’t worry, I’m not leaving just yet.”

“I’m not gonna die,” Ironside told the little group. “Let’s go.”

“Good,” Check said, turning around and walking away from The Oval as a fire was starting to catch. They walked down the road, passing a bus which had been crushed against some buildings and it had been spray-painted with the words Freaky-Deaky. They passed it and kept walking until they saw a group of people walking out from the community garden and looking to the cricket pitch. 

Check and Hamilton ran and hid behind the bus, hearing voices. 

“God-fucking-damnit!” Check heard a voice shout. 

“We need to move, John. That fire ain’t gonna go out unless there’s rain and it don’t look like it,” said another voice. 

“You’re right, get the town down and get people moving.” 

The people ran back into the community garden. Hamilton started to move out from behind the bus but Check pushed him back. 

“They look dangerous.” 

“Pirate guys,” Hamilton said.

“Pirate guys,” Check agreed. 

They heard some shouting from the garden and some smashing. A few minutes later, they watched as the pirate guys ran out and off. One person was carrying a small figure on their back. 

Check watched as they ran off and then went to the garden. When they walked in, Hamilton got caught on a piece of string which wrapped around his foot, obviously a trap for the Sickos. 

“Damn, Check!” Hamilton shouted.

“Son of a-“ Check said, running over to him and cutting through the string. It gave Check a flashback to String, laughing and talking. 

“Hey, I’m sorry for earlier,” said Hamilton. 

“It’s OK,” said Check. “As long as we’re cool.” 

“We’re cool,” Hamilton replied. 

“Looks like these guys were set up quite well,” said Check, looking around. 

“Definitely,” Hamilton agreed, kicking over a piece of wood, which hit a pile of books, which collapsed, “oi, Check. Medical books.” 

“Looks like someone else is trying to learn doctor stuff,” Check said. 

“That’s great!” Hamilton replied. 

Check walked around, looking at the cardboard and the wood, which seemed to have made up a town. 

After a couple of minutes of looking around, they decided to leave. When they left, they saw the fire starting to spread; it had caught at the first buildings near the stadium. 

They started to run back down the road, trying to stay ahead of the fire. They ran down Harleyford Road, up to Vauxhall, where they saw the pirate guys, who was talking. 

There was a conversation between the guy called John and, no, it was Artemis!

“Artemis!” Check shouted, running, sprinting towards her, a flush of relief travelling their body. 

“Check!” Artemis shouted, sprinting over to them and wrapping her arms around their neck, burying her head into their neck. 

“I thought you were dead,” Check said, “where did you go?” 

“We had to run. The way back was full of Sickos. Literally hundreds of streets chock full of them and we were driven to The Oval.” 

“Thank God you’re still alive,” Check said, “that’s all that matters.” 

Som and Ironside had made their way through Clayton Street and were travelling down Kennington Road to the main road and then to Elephant and Castle. 

Ironside was managing to move without the support of Som and was walking down the road. He had drunk some water, eaten a bar of chocolate and was walking down, determined to get back. He was holding Check’s shirt on his side, which was now crusty with blood. 

The puncture wound hadn’t hit any major organs or bones or anything like that and it wasn’t a very deep wound, so Ironside hoped he would survive, he prayed he would survive, he begged. 

Som was in front of him, killing a couple of Sickos that were brave enough to attack her. 

“How far away are we?” Ironside asked, as they made their way to the main road. 

“Two and a half miles,” Som guessed, “ish.” 

They kept moving. 

Ironside was thinking about, anything he could really. He wanted to ignore the sharp pain in his side, wanted to cancel it out. He thought about Check, God that friend was loyal and a good leader and helpful. Ironside loved them. 

They had first met in Year 2, Ironside remembered. Check was at the other end of the playground, by themselves, dressed in their dumb school uniform. Man, it was stupid. Yellow and brown. Ironside had walked over to Check and sat next to them, starting to talk about, everything.

“Do you want to be my friend?” Ironside had asked. 

“Yeah!” Check had replied. 

They caused a lot of chaos, even when they were that young. They had nicked stuff, messed around, didn’t listen in class. The school had to separate them but they still managed to do stuff at break and lunch. Even started a food fight once. 

When they moved onto secondary school, shit still went down. Detentions every other day until a couple other bully dudes made them, well, rob a bank. They had stolen a shotgun from their uncle’s garage and given it to Check. They didn’t kill anyone, but they did shoot someone. A police officer arrived on the scene and Check panicked. They shot the cop. 

The officer was fine of course and the guys got nothing on their records and only had to do a bit of community service. They were only thirteen after all. Check went to see the policeman in hospital and he forgave them. It was nice. 

Then, when they went back to school, the bullying started. People started calling Check a murderer, killer, criminal. They got harsher: terrorist, bomber, bloodthirsty pig. 

And then, during school of all places, they were watching the news in tutor and the teacher went Sicko. Check and a couple of other people fought the teacher but didn’t kill it and had to run out. Everyone stopped bullying and started to follow their natural lead.

The class, with a few other kids they picked up, made their way to The Shard after being hold up in the school for two days. A lot of kids died and disappeared. Tom and Rachel, David, Kyle and Marco, Jessica and Luke, Paul, Donna, Amy, Nicola and a ton of others. 

Ironside barely realised when they made it to Elephant and Castle, still pressing the shirt by his side. Som stood next to him. 

“We need to keep going,” she said. 

“I know,” Ironside replied. The pain came back, “it still hurts.”

“You’ve been stabbed. The nurses will fix you,” Som said. 

“I know,” Ironside said, walking forward. 

Som looked behind her and saw Sickos coming from the buildings, cringing at the sunlight but then staring down at her and charging as fast as they could. 

“Go!” Som shouted. Ironside started to run. A Sicko came out from a bush and growled at him so he killed it with his sword. He looked back and saw a Sicko, who was wearing a business suit but with Bluetooth headphones in his ears. He leered at Som, who kicked him in the shin, knocking him down. 

“Go!” she shouted again. Ironside grabbed her hand and pulled her down the street, down the A3.


End file.
